spiration started out on his
forehead when he thought of his peril. He passionately longed for a more
assured position--for a little capital that would insure him his bread
until the end of his days, and rid him of the grim phantom of poverty
forever. And it was this desire which inspired him with the same plan
that M. Fortunat had formed. "Why shouldn't I inform Wilkie?" he said to
himself. "If I present him with a fortune, the simpleton ought certainly
to give me some reward." But to carry this plan into execution it would
be necessary to brave Madame d'Argeles's anger; and that was attended by
no little danger. If he knew something about her, she on her side knew
everything connected with his past life. She had only to speak to
ruin him forever. Still, after weighing all the advantages and all the
dangers, he decided to act, convinced that Madame d'Argeles might
be kept ignorant of his treason, providing he only played his cards
skilfully. And his matutinal visit to M. Wilkie was caused by a fear
that he might not be the only person knowing the truth, and that some
one else might forestall him.

"You here, at sunrise, my friend!" exclaimed Wilkie, as he entered the
room where the viscount was seated. "What has happened?"

"To me?--nothing," replied the viscount. "It was solely on your account
that I deviated from my usual habits."

"What is it? You frighten me."

"Oh! don't be alarmed. I have only some good news to communicate," and
in a careless tone which cleverly concealed his anxiety, the viscount
added: "I have come, my dear Wilkie, to ask you what you would be
willing to give the man who put you in possession of a fortune of
several millions?"

M. Wilkie's face turned from white to purple at least three times in ten
seconds; and it was in a strangely altered voice that he replied: "Ah!
that's good--very good--excellent!" He tried his best to laugh, but
he was completely overcome; and, in fact, he had cherished so many
extravagant hopes that nothing seemed impossible to him.

"Never in all my life have I spoken more seriously," insisted the
viscount.

His companion at first made no reply. It was easy to divine the conflict
that was raging in his mind, between the hope that the news was true
and the fear of being made the victim of a practical joke. "Come, my
friend," he said at last, "do you want to poke fun at me? That wouldn't
be polite. A debtor is always sacred, and I owe you twenty-five louis.
This